


you are my home now

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [31]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6229420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Claire trying to relax Jamie at night when the watch are staying at lallybroch</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are my home now

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/140279517374/imagine-claire-trying-to-relax-jamie-at-night-when) on tumblr

Claire absently brushed the tangles from her hair, seated at the mirror in the laird’s room, mind turning over a thousand simultaneous thoughts.

Jamie seethed all throughout dinner – the men of the Watch stuffing their faces with the food that was their insurance against a bad harvest, sticking their muddy boots on the dining table his father had built, downing whisky like there was no tomorrow. Taking, taking, taking. She’d wanted so badly to comfort him - to give him solace – but knew what a delicate dance it all was. So now he was with Ian – safely locked away in his study – while Jenny and Mrs. Crook planned the next day’s meals.

She needed to be his pillar of strength – but she felt she had no strength to give. Out of all the unfamiliar situations she’d experienced since falling through the stones, never had she had to navigate a role within her husband’s family before. Leoch was different – the dynamic was clearly one of Jamie on one side and his uncles on the other. But here, at Lallybroch – Jamie was the laird. The rightful laird. And it pained him so to not be able to take Ian’s place at the dinner table – sitting at the head, commanding respect, his beloved wife in the place of honor at his right hand.

Finally the door creaked open. Jamie stood in the doorway – face and body screaming exhaustion – and just looked at her. The tension melted from his shoulders as he sighed deeply.

Their gazes locked for a long moment – and she watched him shut the door, bolt it, slide out of his coat and kick off his boots, and slowly, dejectedly, cross the room. She swung around on the bench so her back faced the mirror. He knelt before her and buried his face between her breasts, his strong arms wrapping around her hips and just holding her to him. Breathing her in.

She opened her legs and locked them around his shoulders. Her fingers dug into his thick hair, holding him. Loving him.

His body heaved with a great sigh.

“Shhh,” she crooned, rubbing gentle circles at his temples. “Shhh.”

He had to be so strong for everyone – in front of everyone. Had to be so strong for himself, to keep himself together. Only with her did he ever dare to show his vulnerability. His doubts. His fear.

And she cherished him for it.

“It’s killing me, Claire. To see Jenny – and Ian – and the house – ”

“Shhh.” She pulled back a bit and tilted his chin. Their eyes met – his stormy, hers bright.

“Don’t talk any more about it. Just be. Let’s just be, right now.”

Then he abruptly rose to his feet and bent, picking her up like she weighed absolutely nothing. She clung to him, like the limpets she’d seen clinging to rocks when she and Uncle Lamb had walked on beaches in faraway lands - in a faraway time.

He gently set her down on the bed. So careful.

She undid the buttons of his waistcoat. Flung it to the floor. Then started on the buttons of his breeches.

He finished the job and peeled them off his long legs.

Clad in only his shirt – he crouched above her. Watching her breathe, blink. Smile.

“I meant what I told you, at Leoch,” he whispered hoarsely. “ _You_ are my home. They can take our food, our things. Even our land. But it doesna matter to me – as long as they dinna take you.”

His voice was low. Intense. His eyes were dark. Intent.

“I’ll never let them,” she pledged, tracing one thumb down his lips and then lovingly across the cleft in his chin, delighting at the rasp of his stubble.

“Ye’re mine.”

He rucked up her shift – and his shirt – and eased over her – and entered her.

She hissed in pleasure. Relief. Her hips tilted to welcome him. Her hands slid up his bonny arse, up under his shirt, caressing his scars. Anchoring him to her.

“Ye’re _mine_ ,” she whispered, eyes shining.

“Yes,” he said, holding still, savoring their connection.

“Yes,” she said, running a thumbnail across his eyebrow.

“Yes.”


End file.
